


seven wonders

by brophigenia



Series: trilogy of terror [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Dom Sabrina Spellman, Dom/sub, F/M, Hair-pulling, Queen Sabrina, Rough Sex, Season 3, Spoilers for Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018) Season 3, Unresolved Sexual Tension, between unholy regalia challenge #1 and #2, except it's not sex, just rough stuff?, of a sort, okay I just can't with caliban, queen of hell sabrina spellman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23029450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: Caliban stepped closer, the heat from his body impossibly hotter than that of the fire roaring in the figure-carved fireplace. Sabrina was caught by the sheen of sweat on his bared chest. “Do you dream of me often, Morningstar?”(AKA, the Caliban/Sabrina D/s dynamic I needed to see in the world. Takes place before they go after the bowl of Pontius Pilates but after they go questing for Herod's crown.)
Relationships: Caliban (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Sabrina Spellman, mentioned Sabrina Spellman/Nick Scratch, past Sabrina Spellman/Harvey Kinkle
Series: trilogy of terror [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668406
Comments: 5
Kudos: 115





	seven wonders

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes from Stevie Nicks songs, and from Shakespeare's The Tempest, because there is also a character named Caliban and it seemed fitting. 
> 
> All Hail Queen Sabrina.

_ she is like a cat in the dark  _

_ and then she is the darkness.  _

***

Caliban grinned, wicked and wild, eyes full of hellfire.  _ Everything _ full of hellfire. 

_ When I look at you, all I think about is my brother  _ Harvey had said. 

_ When I look at you, all I see is your father  _ Nick had said. 

Caliban looked at Sabrina like all he could see was her. Like all he was and wanted to be was below her, above her, beneath her,  _ inside  _ her. 

“Did you ever read  _ The Tempest?”  _ She asked him, hearing her voice as if it were someone else’s. As if it came from far away. As if she weren’t here, considering this. Considering  _ him.  _ Like maybe she was dreaming, and they were dolls inside the giant dollhouse of her mind, moving at her nightly behest. 

“No.” He replied indolently, moving as sinuously as a snake. “Catch me up, won’t you? My liege.” He added, like he meant  _ my love.  _

“‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on,’” Sabrina quoted, wishing she could hate herself. “‘And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’” 

Caliban stepped closer, the heat from his body impossibly hotter than that of the fire roaring in the figure-carved fireplace. Sabrina was caught by the sheen of sweat on his bared chest. “Do you dream of me often, Morningstar?” 

She opened her mouth to deny it, to rebuke him, but then found unexpectedly that her hand had flown up without her permission to strike him. He took the hit as prettily as he had before the Lords of Disorder in the throne room, wearing Herod’s stolen crown and revelling in their jeering. “You presume too much.” She whispered through frozen lips, feeling every inch the queen of Hell and not the sixteen year old Ravenette in danger of failing Spanish II. 

“Do I?” Caliban challenged, tonguing the spot of blood that had risen on the corner of his Heavenly plush lips. “Put me in my place, then.” He invited, like a challenge. Like  _ he _ was the one who held all the power here. 

“You’re not good enough to  _ lick my boots.”  _ She hissed hotly at him, barely audible in the same way Aunt Zelda became quietest in her hottest furies. She hated him. She wanted to rend the flesh from his bones. She wanted to smash him like a vase, like the pile of clay that he was. 

It was freeing. To want these things. To have such a clear feeling in her mind about him, no conflicts born of love or yearning. The only thing Sabrina  _ yearned _ for in this room was the sight of Caliban’s blood on the flagstones, and maybe to spit upon his smug, awful face. 

“Shall I give it a try regardless?” He offered, again with that grin, though his white teeth seemed sharper. 

“Put your mouth to better use.” Sabrina commanded, in a split-second decision that she did not regret as Caliban fell to his leather-clad knees. There would be time later to regret. An infinite amount of time. She’d signed away her soul to  _ that  _ bargain. Shivering in the cold, in high winds, early December in Greendale unforgiving, reminding everyone of the days when people starved to death in the woods, losing fingers to the icy snows, forever alone among the trees. Forever unresting. 

There was no cold now— no frightful indecision, no lead-heavy weight upon her shoulders. Only her anger and her fire-hot lust, her vision gone sharp and pearlescent in a way that meant she was showing her true face, sclera and irises and pupils all gone whitest white. Caliban groaned for her, reminding her of the sound that she’d always imagined gladiators to make when they were devoured by lions as she listened to bedtime stories told by Aunt Zelda, full of empresses and coliseums and  _ death.  _ Aunt Hilda’s stories were all gingerbread and sugarplums. Between them, Sabrina found a balance between the dark in her and the light, too. 

That balance tipped as Caliban came to heel, as she opened her vestal thighs and drew up her pleated red and yellow uniform skirt, baring plain cotton underwear that seemed to entrance him, though she knew from painful experience what passed for lingerie amongst the sex demons of Hell. 

There was no room for light, in this place. In these dark chambers deep in the bowels of hell, chambers that had been her father’s and now, by birthright, by bloodright, were hers. 

She could imagine Nick here, the way she’d been imagining him still with her the whole time he’d been  _ away.  _ Could imagine Nick all keen-eyed and sly-mouthed,  _ watching. _ He liked to watch. It was something she’d known before she’d ever known anything else about him. It was something she could see in his black-as-pitch eyes. Something she could smell on him, high and heady. 

_ C’mon Spellman,  _ he might’ve said once, when they still possessed some shred of innocence between them. When they were both whole, or close to it. When he was not deformed and she still remembered what it was like to have a soul.  _ Put your back into it.  _

“Who are you imagining I am?” Caliban asked her as he pressed open-mouthed kisses from her knee to the very edge of her underwear, a burning swath of skin that she imagined to look like the blood-red road they’d first met upon, scant weeks before. 

It seemed so strange, that all of this had happened so quickly. That she had been only Sabrina Spellman not even six months ago, and now was Sabrina Morningstar, Queen of Hell. 

“Shut up.” She replied, not conjuring up images of  _ anyone,  _ Harvey (oh,  _ Harvey)  _ or Nick (oh,  _ Nick),  _ and wrapped his hair around her fingers, curling her hand into a fist so she could grind boldly against his smug face, her pubic bone sharp against the hateful ridge of his perfectly-formed nose. 

She’d betrayed them both, the boys she’d claimed to love. Had taken too much from them, even if she’d fumbled at trying to make it right, again. She’d hurt them so badly, and now felt her heart shriveled up inside her chest, blackened and diseased, barely beating, painful like an abscessed tooth. 

She did not love Caliban. She did not have to feel badly for this. 

He opened his mouth and panted hotly against the core of her through the cotton barrier of her underwear, pressed tightly enough between her legs by the fist in his hair that she wondered if he might suffocate if she let it go on much longer. It felt good, the way she felt when she woke up in the middle of the night from dreams she only half-remembered. Vague and throbbing. 

She could do this. Could  _ let _ him. 

“I could tear you to pieces.” She whispered, her head tipped back, sweat gathering on her brow, abs contracting beneath her sweater as she worked hard at keeping her one-legged balance. Caliban scraped his teeth against her, the sharpness dulled by her saliva-soaked cotton shielding.  _ Do it,  _ he seemed to goad her,  _ devour me.  _ She could hear him saying it in that bell-toned voice of his, as if  _ he  _ could command  _ her.  _

The indignity of that imagined scenario brought her strength. 

If she could not have love, she could have  _ power.  _

_ You like power,  _ Zelda had said so accusingly in the directrix’ office, like she spoke to her own icy, buttoned-to-the-throat reflection. They may not have shared blood, but Sabrina knew in her deepest self that she and Zelda were as alike as two peas in an infernal pod. 

“Stop.” Sabrina said in a three-toned voice that came from somewhere darker than her own vocal chords, using her grip on Caliban’s hair to wrench him away from his task, flinging him with all her strength, physical and magical, until he fell back onto the stone floor with a dark smattering of swear words falling from his usually-contained mouth. 

“Do I…  _ displease  _ Your Dark Majesty?” Caliban asked, hips shifting, lips bruised, eyes  _ so  _ hot she could almost feel the weight of his gaze upon her skin. 

“We do not require your services at this time.” She told him, her own mouth drawing tight and her expression smoothing into one she’d seen countless times as she’d grown up in the Mortuary. The royal we only added to her armor. It seemed fitting that she now use the lessons taught to her by, as Lilith had once said,  _ the baddest bitches she knew.  _ “Run along and find some other demons to play with.” She turned her back on him and looked down at the stack of paperwork on a nearby table, left for her perusal by Lilith. She could not translate the lines on them into letters, into words. She could only focus on the throbbing between her legs and the sound of Caliban rising slowly,  _ so  _ slowly, to his feet. 

“‘I would not wish any companion in the world but you.’” He quoted, pressing his body to hers from behind, showing her with a rude rocking of his hips just the effect she’d had upon him, curving all his great lithe bulk down so he could speak directly in her ear. 

With all her willpower, Sabrina managed to neither shiver nor cringe.  _ Thank Satan,  _ her mind whispered reflexively, leaving a sharply bitter taste in her closed mouth, like raw ginger root on her tongue. 

“Leave us.” She insisted, and he did, though only after a pause where there was no sound in the room but the crackle of the fire and the sound of their half-panting breaths. 

Alone, Sabrina slumped against the tabletop and pressed her feverish forehead to the cool lacquered wood. There was work to be done. Just as soon as she collected herself, she would get to it. She had Calculus homework to do, too, and an Acheron configuration for Infernal Geometry due in two witching hours’ time. 

She took another moment to breathe, and then rose, steeling herself with placations that she was not foolish enough to truly believe, but ached for childishly, anyway. 

_ It’ll all be over soon.  _

_ You’ll fix this.  _

_ It’s not forever.  _

_ You’re a Spellman. You can do this.  _

***

_ the night is coming  _

_ and the starling flew for days.  _

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
